Come on. Come on.
- Like that? - Yeah, harder.
Faster.
- Use both hands. - I am.
Come on.
Don't stop. Keep going.
Just let me.
Um... Fuck!
Fuck! Blow in his mouth.
You're supposed to blow in his mouth.
- Patrick, I've got this. - We weren't doing anything gay.
- How old is he? - Fuck! Fuck!
Fuck! Fuck! I am Fucked!
What exactly have you had?
Coke, vodka, MD...
We used some poppers, oxycodone...
Vicodin, clozapine,
and he was drinking that stuff with all gold flakes in it.
- You know, gold leaf. - How much cocaine?
I don't know. A lot.
Listen to my voice. There was just a bowl of it.
What's his name?
I don't know. Pedro.
Pedro?
You so don't know his name.
Don't just snap at me. This is very stressful.
Okay. Can you roll that thing up?
You're flapping it really close to my face.
If this comes out,
I'm dead.
It's... It's over.
- I can't do this. If this comes out, I'm crucified. - Patrick. Patrick!
If you kill yourself I'll fucking kill you!
I can't take this.
Ugh!
- I'm sorry. - Are you okay?
- Uh-huh. - Good.
That's for getting sick on my dress.
Now, get it together.
As for you...
Wake the fuck up!
- Senora. - Patrick!
- Room service. - You ordered room service?
I've got blood sugar issues.
Is everything all right in there?
Just leave it in the hall, please.
- Go on get dressed right now. - Yeah.
No lamp-o, por favor.
I'm just gonna put this down right here.
Mr. Andrews.
There is no Mr. Andrews, huh?
Mr. Andrews.
I tell.
Here's what's gonna happen, okay?
You're not gonna tell it to anyone about Mr. Andrews
because Mr. Andrews wasn't here
and you've never met Mr. Andrews.
That's a favor I'm asking.
And in return,
I'm not gonna have you arrested for solicitation and thrown in prison
where you'll get to do exactly what you're doing right now,
but for a hell of a lot less money.
Hmm. You understood that all right, then.
You can stay here tonight. I'll take care of the bill.
You can order room service,
you can use the minibar.
Knock yourself out.
But tomorrow,
you fuck off and we'll hear no more about it.
Deal?
Deal.
Oh, one more thing.
Let's get rid of these shall we?
- Is that all of them? - Yes.
Thanks, Pedro.
Left down the corridor to the service elevator.
I'll have a cab meet you at the end of the street.
Thank you for coming, Robyn.
I don't know what I'd do without you.
All right, come on.
Buenas noches, Pedro.
Subtitles by explosiveskull
- Morning, Auntie Robyn. - Oh, Jesus.
Hi, sweetheart.
You smell funny.
You look funny.
I made up the bed in the spare room for you.
- Couldn't make it that far? - What time is it?
- 6:00. - There was a crisis at work.
Of course there was.
Hi, Rob.
Good morning.
Radiant as usual.
- Hey. - Naughty Auntie Robyn.
Hey, that was your fault.
Okay, Kelly can have fruit or toast
or one of those if she really wants one.
You're not working today?
No, they're letting me work from home this morning.
Daddy daycare.
- There's coffee for you. - Thank you.
You.
Is everything all right?
Peachy.
Okay, let's do this.
You sure you don't want to take a shower?
You smell like a stripper.
Doesn't she?
I'm okay.
Auntie Robyn, you dropped this.
Oh, thanks, babe.
I can't have my coffee without my sugar.
Thanks.
Are you f-ing kidding me?
- Fuck! Ow! - Hey.
"F."
Kelly, let's make some toast, darling. Come on.
You like yours strong.
Don't, Robyn.
Not in my house.
I swear it's not mine.
I confiscated it from a client.
Hey, those are mine.
You'll get them back.
There is an extra bottle for Teddy in the fridge.
There is backup, if you need it, in the freezer...
Freezer. I know. I can cope looking after our children...
All right, if I'm not at work by 8:00,
Caroline will have me chemically castrated.
Okay.
- You good? - Absolutely.
- You? - Yeah.
- Let's do it. - Good to see you, Rob.
Hope all goes well this morning.
I'll be thinking of you.
And you, of course.
Be good for Daddy.
Can we have pancakes?
Can't have pancakes, sweetie. It's not Sunday.
Let's make some pancakes.
Shades might be a bit much.
Al least I made an effort.
What's wrong with this?
Nothing. If you're a high-end prostitute
looking for work.
I didn't know we were supposed to dress like Jackie Onassis.
I don't know. This, here...
You ready?
Wait!
Hey.
Should we say something?
Like what?
I don't know.
Like a prayer?
What?
A prayer?
Okay.
Hey.
We shouldn't have left.
We shouldn't have let her...
You and me, kid.
Oh, shit!
No. It's fine. It's fine.
You go.
Hello.
- I love you. - I love you, bye.
Yes. Mmm-hmm. Yep.
- Is she in? - Office.
Come.
Morning, Caroline.
Does this make me look like a lesbian?
Uh...
No. It's lovely.
You must understand. I want to look like a lesbian.
It's for a benefit, for lesbians.
Oh, well, in that case with the right hair...
What lesbian are we talking? Ellen or Portia?
The second one.
Someone's trying to sell a story
on Anthony Henderson.
Again? Who is it this time?
Oh, I don't know, some fame-hungry twiglet
with puffy lips and sad-eyes.
Wouldn't normally be a problem,
- but she says she's got pictures. - Of course, she does.
As you know,
the papers have a creaking drawer full of women
waiting to cash in on their one night
of wild forgettable sex with Mr. H.
And once those floodgates open,
Noah himself wouldn't be able to save him.
We have our fists in the proverbial dike.
And she's not happy about it. I get it.
Why can't someone else deal with him?
Because you, my dear, are the best we have.
Plus, you're the only one in the office he hasn't screwed yet.
What if he tries to screw me?
You screw him.
Or you politely decline like a big girl.
I don't care. This isn't a sleepover.
All I care about is that every housewife in the country
has a dozen of his cookbooks on their shelves.
And they frig themselves to sleep
over what a devoted husband and father he is.
So, let's not burst their bubbles.
Or his 21 million a year turnover,
by exposing his myriad human failings.
Just get this in the ground today
before the hashtag HendersonPutItUpMeToo
lights up the Twittersphere.
I don't care if that Jesus himself
asking for your hand in marriage.
There's only one person allowed to touch their phone in this office.
And you're looking at him.
You're meeting Henderson at the Mondrian in half an hour. Brush your teeth first.
Christ, you've got lovely skin.
I'd kill for your skin.
I mean, literally.
I would kill you and peel it off if I could.
- Caroline. - Tell me you didn't open that door without looking first.
I'm so sorry.
Just there's a terrified Scottish girl
waiting in reception for you.
Oh, yes.
I got you a new pet.
Hi, I'm Robyn. You're gonna be with me.
Hi, I'm Melody. It's nice to meet you.
Let me give you the tour.
So, what do you know about us?
Okay, um, Mills Paulson PR.
You've got offices in London and LA and New York.
You cover everything from media training
to brand management, career strategy,
and specializing in crisis management.
We don't use the word "crisis"
we call them "challenges."
Now, the woman in the Death Star is Caroline.
She's the boss. If you ever see her smoking inside don't mention it.
And when she sends you out for lunch
she wants fresh steamed broccoli
and salmon sashimi from Taro.
Make sure you put the chopsticks in the bag.
She won't use them. But she'll be offended if they're not there.
Eve, this is the new intern, Melody.
Melody, Eve.
Hi, Eve.
Oh, God. Look at that.
Did you dress yourself?
Be nice, pumpkin.
She looks like she's been kidnapped by a murderer
and dressed in his mother's clothes.
No offence.
Great. Um...
Can I get you anything?
- Coffee or something? - I'll have a coffee.
She can get her own coffee.
But I do need you to get ahold of the woman
who claims to have pictures of Anthony Henderson,
and buy them from her.
- I'll email you the details. - Right.
I'll get on to that right away.
Decaf flat white without milk, please.
Okay. Should I...
Do the thing I said. Ignore her.
Maybe one of those protein bowls.
I missed breakfast. A fruit bar?
The pics, okay.
Christ.
- How much we paying her? - We're not.
She's an intern.
You kidding me. Nothing?
I need one of those at my flat.
Do they come in boy?
Six months. Here for the experience. No money.
The little Cambodian kids
that make your knock-off Hermes make more than that.
How dare you?
I only buy handbags made by free-range children.
And we all had to do it.
Well, I didn't because my father plays golf
with lots of important people but everyone else does.
So you're on Henderson?
News travels fast.
Have you dealt with him much?
When you say "dealt with" are you asking if I visited the boneyard?
I cleaned up his mess with one of the Towies.
We ended up in the back of his estate.
I still got a scar on my forehead
from where I hit it repeatedly on his kid's booster seat.
- You're a classy lady, Evie. - One tries her best.
Okay. I better go.
The world won't save itself.
Lunch? I'm spending the morning with Conor McGregor.
He's decided he wants to write a children's book
about a shy cockerel who gets bullied by all the chickens
'cause he's got the funny thing on his head. What do you call that?
- Comb. - Comb. Right.
Anyway, the cock then finds self-respect
by taking up mixed martial arts.
- I shit you not. - What is the obsession with writing children's books?
Surely there's better way to get your kids to love you.
Apparently not.
- It's a date. - Don't bone him.
No juice?
Um, you... You didn't ask for a juice.
First impressions count.
So next up we're gonna knock up a classic Henderson household dish.
This dish, for me, screams, "family dinner."
It's made with care, it's made with love, and it's easy as pizza pie.
Meaning, you and the missus, get maximum...
Uh, Robyn, extreme circumstances for a first meeting.
Not for me.
No. Of course not.
Listen, you must think that I...
I need to know what to expect if this thing drops.
What do you mean?
How many other women are gonna be making calls?
I... I don't...
Well, maybe in the past, I've been a bit...
I'm on the telly.
And that provides opportunity...
This isn't the Leveson inquiry. Can we hurry this up, please?
I love my wife.
How many women, Anthony?
I'm such a fucking idiot.
We're in the process of acquiring damages.
But the truth is, the press have already had a sniff.
So if we want them to drop the bone, we're going to have to give them something better.
What do you mean, "something better?"
Something sympathetic. Illness is always good.
Anything wrong with any of your kids?
Excuse me?
Downs, meningitis, learning difficulties at a push.
No, thank God.
- Cancer? - No!
Oh, come on, Anthony, work with me!
Wife, brother, sister. You've seen the ads. It affects one in three.
Sally's mother died of breast cancer.
But she was eighty-seven, and that's four years ago.
So it's in the family...
That's good.
Is it?
Okay. I'm gonna book her in for a mammogram. I know a clinic. It's a private place.
Maybe she found a lump. Maybe her breasts were tender.
And if she tragically lost her mother to the disease, she's got to go in and get it checked out.
And you're gonna take her there and be by her side.
The supportive, wonderful husband that you are.
Surely we can't just lie.
Did you think we'd resolve this without lying?
'Cause we can try that approach if you prefer.
Sorry, but how exactly am I supposed to get her to agree to this?
With all due respect, I'm sure you've lied to your wife before.
You'll figure it out.
Look, just tell her that you love her.
And that you read an article about breast cancer rates, and you're worried.
And you don't want your kids to lose their mother.
You'd be surprised what people will believe if they want to.
God! What is...
What's wrong with me? Why do I do this?
Hey, Anthony. You can't...
It's a nightmare.
Hey, wow, okay. You can't do this here.
And you're squeezing my hands. Get... Anthony, get off. Get off. Come on.
Come on.
Come on...
Hi, I'm the, uh, computer guy.
Hi! Hi, um, I'm Melody.
It's this one here. I can't get it to work.
Is this your computer?
No. I'm just an intern.
Um, it's Robyn's computer? Robyn is my boss.
That's a pretty name.
Melody, not Robyn. Well, Robyn's a pretty name too.
But, so... What did you say the problem was, again?
Okay.
Sorry.
It's like... This thingy there?
So when I move that, it doesn't move, so I can't...
Yeah, it's... Just... Sorry.
It's not switched on.
Yep, that was really embarrassing.
It just wasn't switched on.
And I didn't even think to change the...
I need you to book us somewhere for lunch. Fancy but cheap.
Somewhere I'll like that won't give me bread. What's Harry Potter doing here?
I was just fixing a thing for Melody.
Yeah, it wasn't even switched on, so...
Don't worry about that. It's always the switch.
Adorable. Restaurant.
Right.
Once you've done that, I want you to go through these for me.
What's this?
It's Tinder. You're not familiar with it?
No, I know what Tinder...
Great. So go through. Say yes to all the attractive ones.
But remember, you're matching with me, not you, so standards, high.
Be picky. Nines and tens. Working professionals.
No beards, no glasses, no tiger selfies.
If any of them message you, then you can discuss dinner.
Once they suggest a restaurant, Google it, look at the menu.
If you can buy a bottle of wine for less than thirty quid then tell them it's a no.
Keep Tuesday evenings free. That's when I do Kundalini.
Yep?
I'm still with Henderson. Did you get the pictures?
Um, yeah. I was just trying to email you, but I couldn't get your computer to work. So...
Yes or no?
Right, yes, I think. She said she would agree to sell them, but they're not gonna be cheap.
I didn't know how much money you had around, so...
That's fine. He can afford it.
Look, I need you to book a mammogram for me.
A what? For... For you?
- No! Not for me. For his wife. - His wife?
I'll text you the number of my guy in Harley Street. He owes me a favor.
Okay, um... What time do you...
Did he try and fuck you yet?
Jesus! No, Eve! The man is having a breakdown.
Of course, he is. Has he started crying yet?
That's what tipped me. Love seeing a man cry.
Eve.
Oh, come on, he must have done something.
He had his hand on my arse within three minutes. Knob out in twenty.
Well, maybe he just recognizes that I'm more professional than you are.
Yeah, you're probably right. Ciao-ciao.
- Sorry about that. - It's fine.
But, you are paying for the hotel and that's mini bar whiskey
it's gonna cost you about term of your kid's school fees.
Well, best enjoy it then.
Hmm.
Things haven't been great with me and the missus.
We hadn't had sex for a year-and-a-half.
Anthony, I don't care.
It's a sickness, I'm an addict.
I can't help it, it's like diabetes.
Maybe you should stop putting your dick in so many cakes then.
You are a very cold woman, you know.
I'm not gonna feel sorry for you because you cheated on your wife.
I am a decent bloke, okay?
Yeah, I messed around a little bit, but who hasn't?
I don't deserve to be crucified for it.
Seriously, this shit is terrifying.
Everybody's got a story nowadays.
Everyone. I've got friends that'll never ever work again
because some disgruntled one-night stand just pointed the finger at them.
And it goes both ways.
I've had to deal with my fare share of clumsy passes from drunken women.
They follow me down to the toilet
and grab my arse, but you don't see me calling Rupert Murdoch, do you?
You done?
Just saying, if I were a woman, we wouldn't be having this conversation.
What's the difference?
I would say the main difference
is that you haven't been told since you were 11 that every male you encounter
has the potential to rape and murder you.
Followed by a life of pre-sexualization, cat-calling and slut-shaming
that fills you with so much guilt and fear
that when you're 16 and some kid starts choking you during sex, either with his hands
or with his penis, 'cause he saw it in a bunch of porn.
You assume it must be you who got it wrong.
So, every time there's an inappropriate comment or a hand on your thigh,
you swallow it.
Until one day the world says, "Hey, actually, maybe all that crap isn't your fault,"
and the relief is so great that shit just pours out of you like a tsunami.
And, yes, like most tsunamis innocent people drown.
But, I am sorry that you've had to deal with women
you didn't deem attractive enough, grabbing your ass.
I appreciate the life has its challenges.
- What? - You don't give a fuck, do you?
Should I?
I do love her you know,
my wife.
And I love my kids, obsessively.
That thing I said to you about not having sex for a year-and-a-half, that was a lie.
We have sex all the time and it's... It's great.
It's just sometimes, I...
I like to fuck people that I don't love, too.
That feels like the first honest thing you've said to me.
I'm gonna make some calls, round up some photographers.
Stay here for a bit.
Get your head straight.
Why haven't you tried to have sex with me?
Excuse me?
If it's such an addiction, why haven't you tried to have sex with me?
Um, would...
- Would you like me to? - No.
- I can do if you want. - I don't want, thank you.
I'll be in touch.
You're complicated.
You got all this stuff going on behind the eyes. I wouldn't even know where to start.
Of course, I'd like to have sex with you.
- But you are not simple. - You only try to sleep with simple women?
- You want me to be completely honest? - Why not?
- I'm intimidated by you. - And why is that?
Because I know you are more fucked-up that I am.
When you do it, does it make you feel better or worse?
Both.
"Conor The Cockerel was a game bird
"but sometimes the other chickens would laugh at him
- "because he was too flamboyant and his crow was too loud..." - Eve...
Eve, um, Robyn wanted me to pick...
Look at this. I mean, that's the stuff of nightmares, right?
- I need to book an appointment for... - Look at that.
They're like prison drawings.
I just need to know if I should call...
Conor, darling!
Yes, I did, I did, and I am looking at them right now. They're beautiful, sweetheart.
Such a lovely simplicity about them.
I think it's right not to use color.
So strong in black and white, like you.
Hello, is that Mrs. Henderson?
Yes, uh, this is Melody. I am calling from your husband's PR company.
I'm just looking to book in your mammogram for this afternoon.
And I was just wondering what kind of times would be good.
Your mammogram?
Oh...
Right then. So, what happens now?
I go and get on with my day, you go and speak to your wife.
Where are my goddamn underwear?
Treat yourself to a new pair.
- They are not mine. - You okay?
- Great! - What are you angry about?
How long you got?
Hey, just so we're clear. Who actually fucked who there?
I'd say, that I fucked myself and you fucked your wife.
I'll be in touch. Nice working with you, Anthony.
Melody, phone.
Right. Tinder update.
Jesus.
Okay, Christ.
Right. I can see I'm gonna have to go through this whole thing again from the beginning.
I mean, what's the deal with this guy?
- I mean, he's wearing a hat. - Oh...
That should set off alarm bells for starters.
He's got a song lyric for his bio. For Christ's sake.
- I thought it was a poem. - It's November Rain.
Thank God it's not a poem.
Then I'd be really pissed off.
Amateur hour, must do better.
Oh, Robyn,
I think I might've done something bad.
You fucked him, didn't you?
Look, before you say anything...
I'm just saying. I know I can't judge,
but I thought you were better than me.
I am better than you.
Did you have sex with Anthony Henderson?
So my guy at The Mirror called me.
Seems Patrick Andrews' little Spanish friend
from last night's been in touch.
Cheeky father-fucker, I paid him.
Mmm, gets better. He's 15.
It's okay. He's sitting on it for now.
Says their cup overfloweth with Pedro stories,
but wants something good to make it go away.
Mmm. Tell him he can have the exclusivity
on Patrick and Bianca's wedding.
Patrick Andrews is getting married?
He is now.
They can announce it tonight.
- God, that poor girl. - Poor girl, what?
Living in a mansion and getting an allowance to buy drugs and dresses?
Mmm-hmm. That's the dream.
- Do you think she knows that he's... - Do you think she cares?
Give her her dues.
She'll have trolled Essex nightclubs for months
sucking off a lot of frogs to get into his bed.
And now she's found her princess.
Aw, I love a footballer's wedding.
We should all go. Shits, giggles.
Drink free champagne, laugh at the chavvy wedding dresses,
watch Melody get gang-raped by bunch of drunken sexually repressed footballers.
I don't think that's very funny.
It wasn't a joke.
Melody, get a ring sent round to Patrick's,
a big one, and send him the bill.
Where are you going? We're lunching.
Going to the chemist.
You'll call your guy, yeah?
Wait, I'll need to tell you that thing.
Email me.
Is that a gym selfie?
You're on your third strike, Bridget.
How's it going?
I'm all right. Just another day.
- How about you? - Just another day.
What did you do?
Nothing.
Robyn, you're less convincing
than my 4-year-old telling me that
she wasn't the one who put Lego up the cat's ass.
- I fucked a client. - Ow!
Careful. You did what?
- Robyn! - I know. I know.
- What the F? - I shouldn't have told you.
Well, you did.
Take that out of your mouth, please.
What?
Not you. Well, actually, yes, you.
Jeez, Louise. I don't know what goes through your head sometimes.
Yeah.
Just don't think you get a free pass
just because today's today, you know.
It doesn't give you an excuse to be S-H-1-T-T-Y.
"Shonetty"?
Yes, "Shonetty."
So, is whatever it was out of your system now?
It was never in my system. It was...
Just a stupid...
I did it because it was there.
And I knew I'd get away with it.
It's my job to help him get away with it.
Is it your job to fudge him?
- What is fudging someone mean, Mummy? - Nothing, sweetie.
Do your coloring and you can have some apricots, okay?
Do you see?
Do you see what you are bringing into my house?
So, who was it?
Does it matter?
Well, that's a slutty thing to say.
Anthony Henderson.
What? Oh, he is fine!
- You're supposed to be telling me off. - I am!
But just because I vehemently disapprove
doesn't mean I need to be spared the sordid details.
My life is hardly inundated with smut these days.
The only thing keeping me awake at night
is screaming children or Mark's IBS.
I can't remember the last time Mummy had some D.
Anthony Henderson?
Oh, I thought he was one of the good ones.
There are no good ones.
Well, you reap what you sow, my dear.
So. How was it?
It was fine.
Blunt.
"Blunt"? Brilliant.
Thank you, E. L. James, for your fine erotic illustration.
That'll make a great addition to the diddle box.
I'll never be able to enjoy his aubergine gratin
in the same way again.
Were you wearing my underwear?
- I'll wash them. - Ugh!
Oh! Oh, God damn it!
I gotta go.
Taxi!
She won't let you in.
She wants a divorce.
Hold these.
Hi.
Who are you?
I'm Robyn.
I work for the PR firm that represents your husband.
Of course you bloody do.
How did you get in?
- Bathroom window. - You broke into my house.
Jesus. You people are incredible.
What do you want?
I just want to fix things.
I'm leaving him.
Why?
Okay. Why now?
Because I'm sick of being treated like an idiot.
Him cheating on me is one thing,
him thinking I'm stupid enough not to realize is another.
I know what he does.
But he could at least have the bloody decency
to stop getting caught.
- Mmm. - There's nothing more pathetic
than the wronged wife.
I cannot abide people feeling sorry for me.
Okay. What do you want?
You want him punished?
One phone call
and I can have him on the front page of every newspaper tomorrow.
Named and shamed,
broadcast to everyone you know
and everyone you don't know.
Or you ride it out.
You get over this hump,
and then,
when the fuss has died down,
quiet and dignified,
get a divorce.
And you take that son of a bitch
for every single penny you can get.
Did he fuck you, too?
No.
Six months, I want a cookbook.
And I wanna do Strictly.
- You want a grape, love? - Uh, no.
Mrs. Henderson.
- I'll come with you. - Absolutely not.
What did you say to her?
Doesn't matter. She's here, isn't she?
Photographers are outside.
You should probably go say something.
"Worried. What a strain. Respect your privacy..."
- Can I ask you something? - Shoot.
Why did you have sex with me?
To see how I felt.
And how did you feel?
I didn't.
I don't.
Sorry, don't take it personally.
No. No, I don't. I just hoped that you might have had a better answer.
Rub your eyes.
- Why? - It'll make you look upset.
Anthony, is there anything you can tell us?
Well, these are obviously very worrying times.
Uh, immense stress on the family.
These are precautionary...
Precautionary tests...
All right, darling.
Well, I think it's an excellent idea.
Well, we're always here.
Whatever you need. Ta-ta.
Apparently some Ukrainian wrestler
just called Conor a Gypsy on Insta.
So, thankfully he's decided to put his shy cock to bed for now
and focus on hitting men's faces a little while longer.
Celebratory drink.
I'd love to, but I'm destroyed.
Oh, come on, don't be such a baby.
I've got an hour to kill before my date.
- Who do you have a date with? - Melanie?
His name's Peter, he's a GP.
His name's Peter, and he's a GP.
- Is he the one who drives an Audi? - Yes.
- Drives an Audi. - I'm so pleased to see you guys are bonding.
- You sure you can't manage a quick one? - Maybe tomorrow.
Oh, tomorrow, tomorrow.
It's enough to give a girl a complex.
You're the only girl for me, sugar-tits.
I'll go for one.
Aw!
Bless you.
Um... Look, I just wanted to say
I'm really sorry about
- phoning Sally Henderson. - It's fine.
But in the future,
just assume that we're lying to everyone.
Did you get my pills?
Yeah.
Oh, God, no. That's way too much.
Call it wages.
- I don't get any... - Keep it.
But if you tell anyone,
I'll deny it and give you to Eve.
If you're a woman,
would you want to have sex with me?
I am. And I do.
Good. All sorted?
He shall live to fuck another day.
Hmm.
Caroline,
do you prefer worrying about...
If this is gonna be a question about existential angst,
I'm going to have to stop you there.
The world keeps turning, Robyn.
We just help push.
- Oh, by the way, they found a shadow. - What?
In his wife's breast, from the scan.
They found a shadow. Thought you'd want to know.
Lucky. She owes you one.
Ah, my date's here.
She works in accounts.
She's actually straight,
but she's the closest I could find.
Hey.
Oh, sorry.
He's beautiful.
Or... She... It... It's beautiful.
You can have it if you want.
I haven't slept in three days.
He.
Hmm?
He's a he.
It's hard to tell if he's happy or...
Having a poo.
Oh, sorry.
Oh, that's all right. Don't take it personally, I mean...
I love him and all that... But Christ, he's boring.
And selfish. I mean...
All they do is eat, shit, cry.
- Eat, shit, cry. - I had an ex like that.
Mummy's losing her mind, isn't she?
Yes, she is.
See?
Nothing.
Where's the father?
Work.
Lucky bastard.
I have a master's in criminal psychology
and the sum total of my conversation
in the last four days has been shushing, cooing,
begging.
I went...
I went out.
Left the house with my jumper on
inside out and back to front this morning
and when I noticed
I didn't even bother to change it.
I mean, less than a year ago,
I dropped a grand on a Burberry trench coat.
How was your day?
My mother committed suicide a year ago today.
She jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge.
Well, this is awkward.
Hey, I'm so...
I'm so sorry about your mum.
It's okay, she was nuts.
My sister and I moved here to get away from her.
To be honest, part of you goes,
"Well, it happened,
"so, now, I don't need to worry about it happening anymore."
Mmm, yeah, I get that.
The real problem is the dread.
I feel like now she's gone, I'll take her place.
It's like...
Looking at your reflection in a dirty pond.
Hmm.
- Can I ask you a question? - Yeah.
Are you happy?
I don't know. Um...
I don't know. I'm just really tired.
Me too.
Hmm.
You are a filthy, filthy man.
Mmm. No.
Shit. Enough.
I'm sorry. I got to go now.
Someone more interesting has turned up.
- Yeah. Ravi says hi. - Hi, Ravi.
All right, man. I got to go. Later.
Shit.
I'm sorry. I... I can explain.
It's fine. You don't have to.
- I know I'm not meant to be smoking. - Babe, it's fine.
How's Ravi?
He's a terrible, terrible man.
Met this girl at the gym that he's trying to get with, right?
And so he sends her a picture of his dick, as you do.
But instead of sending it to her, he sends it to his estate agent who is a dude.
- Christ. - Yeah.
And then he tries to start the whole thing out
by sending another message saying his phone had been stolen,
but he sent it from the same phone.
This guy's an absolute fricking car-crash.
Man, dick pics.
Whoever thinks those are a good idea?
It just looks like a selfie taken by an angry sock puppet.
Enough about Ravi's dick, already.
How you doing?
Missed you last night.
How's Ruth?
This morning all go okay?
It went.
I did try calling you a couple of times.
Yeah, I know. There was a crisis at work.
When is there not?
How was your day?
Not good.
Fifteen-year-old girl thought it would be a good idea to throw herself under a train.
They brought her in, absolute mess.
Looked like a Mr. Potato Head that had been put together wrong.
Then her parents turned up.
Pretty shitty.
Hence the, uh...
Okay, you win.
Baby, I hate to do this to you after such a stressful day,
but apparently your fertile window is closing.
I'd like to get in there.
Do you find that weird that you have an app that tracks my womb?
Do you?
Mmm.
Can I just grab a quick shower first and wash the day off?
Of course.
Sure you're okay, Rob?
Peachy.
You all right in there?
Yeah.
Just dropped my toothbrush.
Subtitles by explosiveskull